


Dream a Little Dream

by floatxxaway



Category: Survival of the Dead (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-05
Updated: 2014-12-05
Packaged: 2018-02-28 05:42:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2720861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatxxaway/pseuds/floatxxaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarge has a different dream, but Chuck is still dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dream a Little Dream

**Author's Note:**

> short and a couple years old, but I wanted to post it here from [ff.net](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7228396/1/a-different-dream) because the movie is still dear to my heart.

Crockett's world is spinning. Not spinning, more like swimming: the inky black of the background rolls like waves in his mind's eye. His body feels exhausted and sore and he can’t really move, but very quickly that becomes okay.

"Wake up," the image in front of him says. "Wake up, Crockett."

"What?" Crockett manages a hoarse whisper. The world gives a surge and swells in tandem with his heartbeat. The boy's eyes are dark, choppy strands of hair curling around his face like smoke, and his smile is a million watts. Crockett squints a little at him.

"You're dreaming," the bid says with lips moist and red.

"Kid?" Crockett asks, shuddering when the boy reaches slowly out. Every inch gained is a stolen moment of Crockett's breath.

The boy rests his hand on the gunshot wound open and bleeding on his shoulder, gaze never wavering. Crockett allows himself to feel sorrow over the reasons, but then the boy is leaning into him. His eyes are open when he gets into Crockett's personal space, sliding oh so long legs up to brace knees on each side of Crockett and pushing his weight hard downward. The hollowing darkness of the waves comes crashing down on them.

“Crockett," the boy says again, voice sure and true and pulling at something in Crockett's chest. Crockett suddenly feels very old. "Sarge, you need to _wake up_."

So he does.

 

-

 

Crockett opens his eyes and it’s nightfall. He's sore and exhausted, wants to close his eyes again but the unsettling fear that never quite leaves him now is something good to focus on. Crockett doesn’t feel like throwing up anymore and his vision doesn’t spin too much. Reality is more terrible than any nightmare he could have.

Chuck is dead.

Crockett hitches a painful breath and ends up frightening the boy kneeling in front of the couch near him.

"Holy shit," the boy exclaims as he flails and falls back and on his ass. He was washing his hands in a bucket of steaming water now turned deep red. He tips himself back upright, wiping wet palms heavily down the front of the jeans covering his thighs. "You're awake."

Crockett breathes out again, this time in response to how intently the boy is looking at him.

Crockett shakes his head to distract himself. Oh, what was that? Chuck is still dead.

"How are you feeling?" The boy says. "It looks like the bullet went right... through you. Which is why..." he trails off.

"I figured," Crockett says, and sits up better to prod at his shoulder. The boy didn’t do a bad job of bandaging him up, the cloths wrapped tight in an arc over the wound and several pieces around his chest for security. It feels awkward on his tongue but he says, "Thank you."

The boy smiles and hands him his shirt first. Crockett winces as he struggles into it, forcing back gasps as the boy helps him into the stale cotton. If Crockett didn’t know better – which he does but right now doesn’t want that think too much about it – he would say the boy's fingers were stroking long pets down his sides and torso in the process. The boy is spreading the camo jacket to help Crockett into that as well when they hear jostling outside the screen door.

"Fuck," Crockett says, and surges up the best he can. The boy gets to his feet quickly, retrieving Crockett's handgun off the coffee table and aiming in the general direction of the woods outside the screen.

They wait.

Tomboy? Francisco? O'Flynn? Deadheads?

"Don’t shoot!" A female voice calls out from the woods. She appears at the doorway, peering into the cabin. She's an identical match to the zombie daughter of O'Flynn they had seen riding through the field on horseback.

The field where Crockett took a fucking bullet and Chuck _still_ died.

"Huh," the boy says, blinking. He lowers the gun and Crockett takes it from him. "There’re two of them."


End file.
